


Stranger to My Eyes

by TauntingTyrant



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Flashbacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8374603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TauntingTyrant/pseuds/TauntingTyrant
Summary: His past didn't make him the monster he would become.It's just what he was, and the road less traveled was laid out bare before him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so because of my frustration at the lack of fic where Gat is suffering, I decided to write this. When I read fic about Johnny, there's always the element where he's a badass and it's what he's always been. So I'm taking this into my hands to a time where he WASN'T quite the beast we know yet. I warn you, it's going to be very ugly and I refuse to romanticize the concepts applied from here on out.

Johnny Gat wasn't a clean man.   
Now, that didn't necessarily mean his hygiene was shit. It just meant that there wasn't a shower in this world that could rid his hands of the blood upon them. Nothing in this existence could cleanse a lifetime of killings with those hands to blame. 

He could never be _clean_.   
The lieutenant didn't think about it often, thinking was the shit that the canonized could do. Thinking and Johnny Gat weren't two things that mingled well, and anybody with enough sense to avoid the hellish fury of Boss' right hand man... Hell, maybe even the boss themselves. Shit wasn't worth the risk it presented. There were things in this world you just didn't question, people you didn't step to; And Gat made number one on that dangerous list. 

If Johnny Gat took the time to sit and listen to the workings of his mind, the rage would give way to repression.   
He wouldn't ever let that shit happen again. Not for any noble reasons of course, that shit just wasn't for him. He wasn't a liar by any means, nor was he a good one either. That only meant he couldn't lie to himself once he was faced with the truths of the life he lead thus far. The man had little to no regrets, and he'd keep it that way as long as he was kickin' around on this godforsaken shithole of a planet. 

However, there were just some things he kept to himself. No one had to know shit.   
  
"Eesh..." The man rolled over, the pillow clutched in his arms. The words were spoken briefly, and then.  
Silence.   
The man was adrift in his own mind once again, pulled under by exhaustion. 

He fucking loved her.   
Some days he'd remember that R&B get-up he'd give her shit for, but deep down he found to be adorable on her.   
Other days he'd remember what she matured into, with that white suit and the braids from her youth long gone. But that fire in her eyes was still there, it never left her.  
He'd always remember the power she had over him, even if he spent more time than not denying the fact that woman had him wrapped around her finger. There wasn't another person in this world he would do so much for, save for the Boss of course.   
But for Aisha?  
When she needed or _wanted_ something, she was damn well gonna get it. 

Johnny bitched, complained, and even traded blows.  
But in the end, she got what she deserved, because to him she was worth a lot more than what he could give her.   
He wouldn't find himself admitting it in the dead of night until it was too late. 

_"Johnny, it's a tra--!"  
**CHINK!**_

_The dull thud upon the floors he'd spent a good amount of time cleaning the blood from the night before. Nothing more but the sound of breaths from all but her. She was gone, she was fucking_ **GONE!**  
Aisha Simmons had a good head on her shoulders, from the day he met her to the day she died.   
He couldn't even say **that** about her, when he slammed through the doors, only to be met with a sight that robbed him of all sense. 

He had less than five regrets in his life.  
Everything having to do with how he treated the only woman who dared to understand him were four of those regrets.   
He didn't talk about the  last one.   
Never again.   
Never a-fucking-gain. 

 _"Get off."_  
  
_"C'mon big boy... You talk all big about getting pussy, and yet here I am without you to help me out with my little problem..."_  
  
_"I didn't ask for this, get the fuck off me yo!"_  
  
_"It'll feel good, I promise."_  
  
_"GET. OFF!" She was his step-mom. His fucking step-mother of all the women in the world to render him helpless. He hated himself after, hell; He fuckin' hated himself during it. He hated how it felt, he fucking hated it. It felt good in all the wrong ways. Not in that that 'It's wrong but it's right' way. It was wrong, and everything about it made him sick for years after. The bitch had a hold on him, and this time it wasn't as easy as a bullet to the brain._

_His father never learned about it, nobody knew.  
The only person he ever uttered a word to about it was in pieces on her own floor._

_He was 14 when it happened. She was probably a decade older than him, but it wasn't something he thought about while it happened. All he felt was that damned sense of helplessness for the first time in his life.  
Johnathan Gat lived a very "It is what it is" life, but this wasn't what he meant. He didn't want this, he didn't ask for it, but he couldn't beg her to stop. He wouldn't make a sound, he closed his eyes, and soon it passed like all things._

_Was it pride? Was it the fear of being the wuss that backed down?_  
Was it everything the Row had instilled in him?  
What the fuck made him lay there, what the fuck took so long for him to break her neck?  
She would be his first **real** kill.  
Why could he shrug off the hundreds of lives he laid waste to, but not this?

He didn't mind that the blood would never be washed away. Johnny couldn't give less of a fuck about all that. It came with the job.   
This?  
He pushed it down, like nothing ever happened. As if it were another story he left out on the nights where the Saints gathered for drinks and fuck stories. The times where he scrubbed away at his own skin went undiscussed, all of it stayed in the dark where it belonged.

Nobody had to know, not even him. 

Maybe, just maybe.  
If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that Aisha didn't know either. Seeing was believing, and the evidence was long gone.  
As far as he was concerned, that meant ain't nothin' happened.  
And ain't shit to be done about it. 

Simple was how he rolled.  
Even if it wasn't working. 

_"It's okay, Johnny. It's okay." She held his head against the crook of her neck, arms draped loosely around his neck._

_"No, it ain't." No matter how badly he wanted to snap on her,he didn't. Johnny only laid there, hands in her lap. He was lost, he was drunk as fuck, and she was right there. She wasn't going anywhere._

_She had his back, like he had hers._  
And she didn't ask for anything in return, she didn't bring it up.  
It went unspoken, just like he would've wanted.

_He didn't have to ask._

**_"I've got you."_ **

Those words were a double edged sword.

**Author's Note:**

> I may edit this some time in the future, but here's what I got for now!! It's late and I lost my ideas a little bit into writing, but it's finished nonetheless.


End file.
